


Blue-Papered

by MalevolentReverie



Series: Dark Reylo Short Stories [16]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Come Swallowing, Complete, Darkfic, Dirty Talk, Doctor Ben Solo, Dominant Kylo Ren, Drugged Sex, F/M, Flashbacks, Involuntary Hospitalization, Loss of Virginity, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Naked Female Clothed Male, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One Shot, Orgasm Denial, POV First Person, POV Rey (Star Wars), Praise Kink, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychosis, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Revenge Sex, Shameless Smut, Stalking, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, patient Rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Rey is committed to a psychiatric hospital following a mental breakdown. Her doctor, Ben Solo, has a chip on his shoulder.





	Blue-Papered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scotian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotian/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Подотчетная](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519727) by [Tersie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tersie/pseuds/Tersie)



> g r e a t
> 
> added a little snippet of my own fun times with psychosis

 “Please—I’m not supposed to be here! Th-There’s been a mistake!” Wrists twist in leather, chafing my skin. I can’t move—I can’t move— “Let me GO!” I scream and thrash. “Let me GO!”

The past two days have passed so fast, like a nightmarish blur: meltdown, emergency room, _asylum._ Committed; I’m committed, but I’m not crazy, and no one can get me out of here. No parents, no family. Some doctor signed on the dotted line and I’m strapped to a gurney.

No one will tell me what’s happening. They smile and bare their teeth and move me from white room to white room like I’m a caged animal and tell me _everything is going to be okay_.

I scream again, as if it helps. It’s comfort in this cold, white hell, where I’m stark naked and restrained, wrists and ankles bound to the edge of the bed.

  _No clothes for you_ , Nurse Ratched had chirped while she watched two men rip them off me. Pretty bright red lips. _We don’t want you hurting yourself, little miss._

I break down into sobs again. I want to go home—I want to apologize to Rose for trying to hurt her—I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been so _paranoid_ the past few weeks; so mad and confused. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not—

The big steel door creaks and drops to a groan. Someone’s coming in, but I’m so beside myself that I can’t stop crying and feign calm. I strain against the leather, hyperventilating, choking on my sobs. Please help me. I shouldn’t _BE HERE_!

A man laughs, mid-conversation, and I catch the end of it.

 “—Yes, Mary, Lucille Ball is an innovator, but—” The door hesitates, metal shrieking. “I suppose I’ll have to give her program another try then, hm? Second time’s the charm.” A pen clicks and he laughs again. “We’ll see. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I cough and fight to breathe. Saliva mixes with snot mixes with tears, smearing my misery and terror across my face.

The man enters my prison cell. He’s tall with black hair that just covers his ears and a white lab coat draping near his thighs. His face is long and pale, like the fingers curled around a manila folder; a folder that has all my problems scribbled inside.

He smiles. Calmly sets reading glasses on his sharp nose. The door slams shut.

I blurt my confusion before he can speak. He’s a doctor—he can help me. Only doctors wear lab coats. Thank god. A real doctor.

 “S-Sir!” I sob. “I’m—I’m—” My voice cracks; lilts into a keening wail. “There’s been a mistake, sir!”

He opens the folder and browses through sheets of paper, ignoring me. He’s wearing black slacks and a nice blue dress shirt. A _professional_. I look like an inmate, stretched bare in front of him, when I should be home in my studio in my overalls. I’ve been painting such awful things lately…

The doctor clicks his tongue. “Miss… Rey Niima. What a unique name.” He taps his pen to his lips. “It seems you’ve been having a rough go of it lately, my dear.”

 “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I insist, hiccuping through. I thrash and scream. “LET ME _GO!_ ”

 “Twenty-two, no family…” He continues ignoring me and leafing through the paperwork. Slowly, he saunters closer. “You attacked your friend a handful of days ago and the police brought you in. Now the state has decided you’re in need of treatment.”

I shudder miserably and read the name stitched in neat black script on his lapel: _Doctor Ben Solo._

 “I don’t want treatment,” I croak. I shake my head as he comes closer. Tears roll down my temples. “I… I don’t want treatment, Doctor Solo.”

His dark eyes flicker up to mine. He smiles again and slaps the folder shut; tosses it on the nightstand a foot from my gurney. I swallow and watch, eyes widening, as he dips a hand in his coat pocket. Impeccably white.

 “Don’t fret.” He withdraws a needle and flicks the barrel. “I know what’s best for you.”

 “No—NO!”

No one cares, including him. The needle bites my upper arm and I can only scream as he pushes the plunger with his thumb. His lips part and he watches me and runs his tongue along his teeth. He’s smiling, just at the corners of his mouth.

The fluid feels cold. I watch him slip the needle free and toss it in the garbage.

I’ve only drank alcohol a few times—and this feels much worse. A haze creeps across my brain, draining my strength to cry and protest, settling like a thick, suffocating blanket. My eyes are so puffy and heavy from crying that I can only keep one half open.

Doctor Solo takes a rattling breath. He licks his lips. He’s staring at me, pupils dilated.

 “That’s very good,” he whispers. “Shh… let the medicine help.” His gaze sweeps down my face and his throat bobs. “Look how messy you are.”

My leather restraints creak as I squirm and moan. He peers over his shoulder, then takes out a small handkerchief and begins tenderly wiping my face. Nice, soft red cotton. I blink my one eye, slow.

He smiles and hums while he cleans me. I appreciate it, but I don’t like the way he’s staring.

 “You don’t remember me, Rey?”

I shake my head.

He ambles back to the door and a key crunches in the lock. I’m trapped in here with him.

 “Hm… maybe I can trigger your memory.”

—————

 “Rey, are you okay?”

Rose and Finn sit across from me at our lunch, but I’m positive it’s not them. I stare, gnawing on my nails already whittled down to bloody stumps, watching their faces melt and reform and melt again. They made me leave my apartment. They _claim_ I’ve been locked in for a week; no shower, no phone calls, only eating crackers and rice.

It’s bright. It hurts my eyes. I squint and rub. Ouch.

Finn looks nice in his jeans and leather jacket and Rose looks pretty in a yellow sundress. I’m in my overalls; no bra, covered in paint. I chew, chew, chew. Chew it down, chew it off. I have to get out of here. The apartment’s safe. I’m painting something new, with lots of black and red and slashes of color.

I taste copper and watch a man walking down the street with a woman’s arm curved through his. They twist their necks, slow and creaky, to look right at me, and smile. Wide. Big.

My brain feels hot and heavy, buzzing with the realization that I’m being watched, and my head hurts because only I can sense it. I look around with wide eyes as all the pedestrians freeze and turn _slowly_ to face me, grinning and baring their teeth at me, and even though I’m shrinking into my chair they can still see me.

Rose huffs. “Honestly, Rey, you’re being ridiculous.”

  _YES YOU ARE,_ snaps someone—he doesn’t have a name—but he’s there, like an echo that’s coming closer every day. Sounds like an angry demon but I’ve already cleared my apartment with sage a couple times. The priest won’t call me back. Those are my two options; that’s all I can do.

 “Shut the fuck up,” I mutter to the stranger.

 “Excuse me?!” Rose snaps. She can’t hear him. “What is wrong with you?!”

 “Rose,” Finn soothes, “she doesn’t mean it.”

I haven’t touched my steak. I figure the man in my head is a demon, and demons eat meat. It’s an offering, so maybe he’ll decide to leave me alone, or give me a break.

  _BITCH._

I’m not going to the doctor or the hospital. I know what happens. I know I’ll never finish college or get married and have a normal life. This is just stress. I’m okay. It’s a stress reaction. I’ll sleep more and… and I’ll cut out the crackers from my diet. Yeah, yeah; that’ll work. The crackers are poisoned. Processed food. It’s poison—that’s how they get in your head.

I clutch my head. “I wanna go home.”

I’m still not sure what exactly Rose says. Probably something innocuous. But the fear reaches a fever pitch, and I think everyone is walking toward me, and I don’t know what to do except lash out.

—————

Doctor Solo keeps smiling as he walks back to me, shrugging out of his white lab coat. My eyes widen and I whimper in fear. Oh no.

 “I think we should be alone for the night now. Nice and quiet.” He loosens his tie, heaving a sigh. “Now, where do I begin…”

He reaches out a big hand and strokes his nails along the outside of my calf, slowly winding toward my inner thigh. My breathing picks up and I squirm, yanking as hard as I can on the restraints, but I’m too drugged and weak to move much.

I crack a sob. “Please… please don’t…”

 “Hush, dove. Hush.” His fingertips carry on up my thigh, along the crease of my groin up to my ribs. All I can do now is whimper. “I attended your art show several weeks back. You displayed several beautiful paintings—I purchased two for my home.”

Doctor Solo brushes his thumb across my nipple with no further pretext. He smiles when I squirm and palms my breast in a broad palm, squeezing gently like he’s examining me. I still don’t know who he is. There were a lot of people at the gallery.

I watch hazily as his hand slithers back down my body between my legs, then he’s prodding me, and I can’t move. The bed groans as I pull weakly on the restraints and a gasp is lost in my throat. He strokes along my slit with a fingertip and pets my head, watching the emotions flit across my face. I’ve never been touched there.

But it feels _good_. The drug drags me down with it and I writhe into his hand as he cups me, rubbing the heel of his palm somewhere that makes warm tingles of pleasure. My lips part.

 “Aren’t you a tense little creature?” The doctor cocks his head, smiling and rubbing. “You were tense at the gallery, too. Such an odd thing to see a young woman behaving the way you do.”

Soon I’m limp, merely rolling my hips against his hand with my mouth open. He combs his long fingers through my hair then I feel an intrusion into my body—he’s pushing a finger inside me. It’s thick and stiff; it hurts and I try to meet his eyes, whining.

Doctor Solo circles his finger inside me. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, watch hand currently buried between my thighs. He leans over me and kisses my forehead.

 “What?” he whispers. “I’m just opening you up. So _tight_.” He jerks his fingers deeper and I grimace. “Are you a good girl, Rey? Or do you like to play with yourself?”

 “I don’t…” I heave a sob. “What are… what are you…”

 “Don’t be shy.” He’s pumping his finger slowly, leaving lazy kisses across my cheeks and hairline. “Do you like masturbating? Is that why you prefer not to keep the company of a man—because you’re a filthy, selfish little whore?”

The foul word makes me flinch. I bite my lower lip and shake my head but he keeps up. Wet clicks interrupt his soft breathing and I cry, humiliated by what my body is doing.

 “I think you _are_ a filthy, selfish whore,” Doctor Solo murmurs against my temple. He glances down to where his hand is steadily moving, meeting the involuntary thrust of my hips. “Oh, Rey. Look at you—wet and ready like a bitch in heat. Dirty girl.” He rubs his thumb up to the sensitive nub and I moan through hiccups. “But you wouldn’t share any of this with me like a good woman should.”

I swallow hard, rocking in time with his hand. Tension curls where he’s stroking and it feels like I’m trying to ascend a peak; like there’s something on the other side. I widen my legs to help him as he adds a second finger, shushing my gasp, worming through flesh. Oh god.

It’s coming back to me. I think I remember who he is.

—————

 “Beautiful work.”

The gallery is almost empty now, but I’m hanging around for the few stragglers. I find a man studying one of my paintings with his head tilted and a wine glass in hand. He’s dressed to the nines in a black twill shirt and slacks, coifed, not a hair out of place. Wealthy.

I smile. “Thank you. That’s just a piece based on Samson and Delilah. I always liked that story.”

 “Hm. She was a treacherous woman—some say she represents xenophobia.” His dark eyes flicker to me. “What exactly do you like about it?”

 “Um… well, she’s cunning. I appreciate a cunning woman.”

The man’s smile grows. “I see.” He offers a hand for a shake. “My name is Ben. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Niima.”

We shake. He’s polite—asks a few more questions about the paintings I have up, where I studied, and what my favorite medium is. I’m flattered by the attention but I know what he wants. Wealthy men don’t ask female artists out on dates for a love connection. It’s disappointing, but true.

Ben beats around the bush a bit before he asks me. He’s a very nice man and very attractive but I don’t want to be someone’s one-night stand they forget about in a week.

 “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I’m focusing on my work right now.”

He pauses mid-sip of his wine. Raises an eyebrow.

 “Ah.” Ben finishes his glass and dangles the stem from his fingertips. “I see. Well, if you find yourself unoccupied on a Friday evening and would like some company…” He offers me a business card.

I thank him and he leaves. I rip up the business card in the bathroom and throw it in the trash.

Before the gallery closes for the night, I stop by the bathroom again, and drop a tissue in the trash. I frown when I notice the business card is missing, but assume the cleaning staff must’ve come through.

Ben is a nice man, but I don’t want to be his side piece.

—————

Oh _no_.

My expression gives me away. Doctor Solo—Ben—smiles wide and withdraws his finger from my body. He licks it, making a show, and calmly dips his hands to his belt. Metal clinks.

 “No one says no to me.”

I’m well into the throes of absolute terror but I can’t do a thing. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his shoes while I struggle to move. Ben frees me from the restraints but it doesn’t matter—I lie there, boneless, as he climbs into the bed with me.

He kneels between my thighs, smiling as he unbuttons his slacks. “Especially mousy little art whores like you. But I’ve uncovered the problem.” My eyes widen and I shake my head as he slips his cock free of his pants, stroking from hilt to head. “You need a man to fuck you properly, Miss Niima.”

I grasp at his chest; his soft shirt, desperate. Ben clicks his tongue and coos reassuringly, grasping one wrist and placing kisses to my palm while he languidly strokes himself. It grows thicker and harder before my eyes. I’ve never seen one before. Clear liquid oozes from the tip.

Exhausted, I fight to keep my eyes open as he leans over me. He cups my cheek tenderly, brushing his thumb across my lips, and I feel his cock teasing my slit. It throbs with need. I’m still pent-up from his fingers and I hiccup and nuzzle his palm. Help me.

Ben kisses my forehead. “Shh… calm, little dove. Nice and easy.” His breath is cool and minty on my skin. I can’t lift my arms.

Hard head pushes. I gasp, twisting away from the intrusion, but he shushes me again and holds me still as he forces his way inside me. It _hurts_. It’s like being cut open with a boiling knife. A groan catches in his throat and he worms an inch or so inside, but I already feel overstuffed and filled.

 “Look at me.” I don’t. He seizes my jaw and I blink at his dark eyes. “That’s my girl. Are you a filthy, selfish whore?”

My lower lip quivers but I nod. Ben clenches his jaw, muscles jumping in his cheek, and takes another inch. I curl my toes. He licks his lips and keeps pushing and my back arches.

 “Are you a dirty girl?” he whispers. “Mousy little art whore? Did you need to be stuffed full of cock to learn your lesson?”

 “Y-yes—yes…” I wince, trembling. “It hurts… it hurts…”

 “I know it does. Do you think you hurt me when you tore up my business card, Rey?”

 “I’m sorry!”

Ben jerks forward. Tight muscles resist and clench down but he’s still halfway inside and I sob from the pain. He pets my hair and hushes me, resting his forehead to mine and groaning and driving deeper. I lie there like a doll until he’s fully sheathed inside me, hot skin to hot skin—and he stills. His hips move slowly back and forth.

 “Such a beautiful girl. So lovely.” He sighs in a relieved way, exhaling on my lips. Tears stream down my cheeks as he picks up his pace with wet squelches. “All ready for me with a soft, warm pussy. I knew you would be—I’ve been slipping a little cocktail into your morning coffee.” He kisses a trail to my ear. “You know… the diner on the corner?”

I choke on another sob. Ben hums and licks away my tears while he gently rapes me and my drugged brain struggles to put the pieces together. Is that why I had an episode? Because of _him_? Because he wanted to get me here—because I turned him down?

It’s enough to make me puke. How… why?

He carries on without saying anything more. Soon the sensation of his cock pumping inside me becomes routine and I can almost ignore it. Ben’s soft grunts and groans mingle with the lewd slap of our skin and the creak of the old bed. He’s having sex with me and I can’t do anything about it.

It stimulates something deep in my brain that wants to have sex and procreate. But the bite of his cold belt brings me back to the reality and the intimate violation, and I don’t want to crest the hill of pleasure anymore. I sniffle and my body shifts each time he thrusts.

 “That’s it,” Ben grunts, “that’s it. Obedient little slut.” His dark eyes meet mine again, hooded from pleasure. “You’ll never refuse me again, will you?” I swallow and shake my head. His fingers dig into my jaw. “You’ll take my cock and thank me for it. Won’t you?”

 “Yes,” I mumble.

 “Very good. So lovely—so beautiful.” Ben’s lips part and he closes his eyes, brows raised. “Oh, Rey—I’m close. I’m close.”

He’s throbbing inside me and his movements grow more frantic. He moans low, bucking faster, chasing fleeting pleasure, then abruptly pulls out. I jump in shock but he straddles my waist and his cock is suddenly in my face. He’s working it fast.

 “Open up,” Ben whispers. He shudders. “Open your mouth.”

I refuse until he wrenches my jaw open. My eyes squeeze shut as he swears, then I feel warm wetness on my tongue, slipping toward my throat, and it squirts on my face. Ben swears again and I try to turn away and spit out the fluid in my mouth—but he pushes it shut and holds my nose between his knuckles. I swallow.

It’s thick and sticky with a strange taste. He tuts when I gag and I feel softness against my upper lip. His cock, strewn with fluids, limp in his hand. Ben smiles and prods my mouth again with the tip.

 “Clean me up.” He cups the back of my head, guiding my mouth closer to him. “Lick it all up, dove.”

I resist until he threatens me in a low tone. Then I’m lapping at his soft cock like a dog, licking away our bodily fluids with his own essence strewn and drying across my face. He pets me and says I’m doing a good job; drops compliments mixed with insults.

I’m exhausted by the time I finish and my mouth tastes awful. Ben nudges under my chin with a curled index finger to make me look up at him, still smiling.

 “Will you ever say no to me again?” he murmurs.

 “N-No.” I swallow, shaking my head. “No.”

 “Good.” He kisses the crown of my skull and heaves a sigh. The room is spinning. I’m about to pass out. “I would loathe to punish you again, dove. Now take a rest. You’ve been a very busy girl.”

Doctor Solo is hardly out of the bed and zipping up his slacks before I pass out. I catch a final image of him smiling at me.


End file.
